


Comfort

by ColorTeal



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Sad Old Man Cyclonus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorTeal/pseuds/ColorTeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Late night tiny drabble to fill up my account with other TF continuities and actually fluffy ship things! There's plenty of Cyclonus holding Tailgate and being the more in-charge half of the ship, I wanted the opposite.</p></blockquote>





	Comfort

Tailgate held Cyclonus’ hand in both of his own, the silver dwarfing his clean white but Cyclonus let Tailgate support the weight of him. Cyclonus sat on the berth, far back enough that Tailgate could stand on the edge, face to face.

“Your fingers are so much sharper than mine.” Tailgate thumbed at Cyclonus’ palm, noticing the light scratches and nicks in the metal. “I guess since. You’re a warrior and all, it’d make sense to.”

“You have the benefit of gentleness, Tailgate.” Cyclonus spoke, voice old and gruff but quiet. “Your hands are smooth. They are non-threatening. You haven’t used them to kill anyone.”

“Cyclonus.” Tailgate huffed. “Everyone at Swerve’s talks enough about the war, you’re not the only ones who’s, uh, killed people.”

“Not like myself.” Cyclonus pulled away, but Tailgate gripped tighter, and kept the jet’s hand from slipping away. “Tailgate.” Tailgate froze from the growl, joints locking up and feeling nervous. He finally let Cyclonus slip from him, and his own arms sank to his sides.

“There is nobody like you, Cyclonus.”

Cyclonus looked back up, red optics locked onto Tailgate and expecting someone else entirely. Last time he heard that said about him, it had come from Galvatron.

He wasn’t sure if he felt blessed or cursed that it was not Galvatron standing before him.

He couldn’t help the short sputtering sound from his vents. Normally, in privacy it was so quiet, that moment of weakness but in this moment it was so loud.

It was deafening.

It was horrifying.

And Tailgate heard it.

The minibot, Cyclonus watched him with his hands in front of his chest fiddling and fidgeting with his own fingers. Visor flickering, and he let out soft, nervous noises. With no embarrassment over being himself.

Cyclonus, frozen over his own self had no time to react when Tailgate pulled the jet towards him, the bigger cybertronian’s head against a blue chest.

He could feel the spark underneath pulsing. Tailgate, nervous as he was, was calm. Far calmer than Cyclonus would admit he was, himself.

He was far from calm on the inside and it was starting to show on his outside too. His shoulders were brought up, cables groaning from tension and he had a death grip on the berth so strong he had crushed it in his hands (again). He couldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had a good idea of what would happen if he let go.

He couldn’t release the anchors that were his hands, but the jet managed to let Tailgate be something to bury his face in.

**Author's Note:**

> Late night tiny drabble to fill up my account with other TF continuities and actually fluffy ship things! There's plenty of Cyclonus holding Tailgate and being the more in-charge half of the ship, I wanted the opposite.


End file.
